


The Moustache Song

by PetrichorPerfume



Series: Shenanigans [195]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Eurovision, Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10979934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/pseuds/PetrichorPerfume
Summary: In which Lucifer wants a moustache, Sam is not amused, and Adam writes a scathing letter in broken French.





	The Moustache Song

**Author's Note:**

> THIS is the moustache song, and it is glorious: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hWJFfnHNOWI
> 
> This is the phone call song, and it's only slightly less awesome: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1PJMkP4Q8g
> 
> Rated T for a curse word towards the end.

When Lucifer comes in their bedroom wearing a moustache, Sam can’t help but laugh.

 

“I was listening to the moustache song,” Lucifer says by way of explanation. “I, too, wanted a moustache, then I remembered that I could just make one.”

 

“You need to stop listening to that song,” Sam mutters.

 

“This one?” Lucifer snaps, and the moustache song starts blaring from the walls.

 

Sam says something, but it’s lost in the din.

 

“What was that? I can’t hear you over how awesome this song is,” Lucifer shouts.

 

Michael peeks his head into their room, followed by Gabriel. “Are you playing the moustache song?” The younger of the two asks.

 

“Indeed I am,” Lucifer answers, turning down the volume just a bit. “Would you two like a moustache, too?”

 

“I’d do anything for a moustache,” Michael says, right on time for his words to match the song. “Who wouldn’t?”

 

Sam raises his hand in defiance. He promptly finds himself with a handlebar moustache on his upper lip, and he tugs at it in despair.

 

Gabriel climbs onto the bed and starts stripping. “You’re supposed to twirl it,” he mock-whispers.

 

The moustache song keeps playing, while Sam feels his way across his new moustache. He cries out just as Castiel pokes his head in.

 

“Dean says that we’re all in thiiis much trouble if you keep playing the moustache song.”

 

“It’s OK, Cas. I think we’re getting a phone call, anyway.”

 

“No, please not the phone call song,” Sam begs.

 

The angels start singing in unison, “I’ve got a phone, baby, I’ve got a phone call!”

 

Sam wisely decides to leave the room at that point. He emerges to find a bewildered Adam and a flustered Dean.

 

“You’ve got a little something,” Dean says, grinning. “Right there,” he points to his lip.

 

“Shut. Up. I did not want a moustache,” he growls.

 

Lucifer materializes beside him just long enough to say, “Everyone wants a moustache.” In a moment, he’s gone again, leaving Dean and Adam to laugh while Sam quietly seethes about the latest addition to his face.

 

After a few moments, Sam can’t take it anymore. He storms up to the door where the angels are still playing their song, knocks, and shouts, “No one is getting any kisses until this thing is off my face.”

 

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the moustache is gone, and Gabriel is poking his head around the doorframe once more. “You could have just asked. No need to get all huffy about it.”

 

“I’ll show you huffy,” Sam huffs.

 

It takes both Adam and Dean to restrain him from hurting an unrepentant Gabriel, who doesn’t get his goodnight kiss that evening until he agrees to make his brothers stop playing Twin Twin from the bunker’s walls.

 

That, of course, doesn’t stop them from making the phone call song the ring tone of every telephone in a three mile radius, though, nor does it preclude them from causing some ‘technical difficulties’ with their favorite French radio station, which was unable to determine the cause of their malfunction for the entire duration of the incident.

 

Two weeks later, the head of the radio station receives the following apology letter in broken French:

 

_Despite having come close to restarting the Apocalypse, we managed to get our angels to stop interfering with your station._

 

“Hackers,” the man huffs.

 

_Now, please, for the love of all that is Holy, restart your system and stop playing this fucking song before I come down there and have an Apocalypse of my own on your doorstep. Thanks for NOTHING._

 

He pales, then looks across his desk at the conveniently placed Big Red Restart Button. “I’ve always wanted to press that,” he says.

 

So he does, and in doing so, saves the world.

 


End file.
